


Black

by mansikka



Series: Too Far [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 03:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6313810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been a week since Dean had glanced out of their motel room window to see Cas and Sam talking, and Cas rapidly disappear.</p><p>Sam had hung his head, stared at the ground for several minutes as though composing himself, then spun noisily on his heel and trudged back in without saying a word.</p><p>Everything was pretty black now for Dean.</p><p>Black when he woke up, because his head pounded thickly with hangover, and his tongue felt too swollen in his mouth to taste much of anything at all.</p><p>Black when he looked in the mirror, because his eyes were bruised with lack of proper rest, and because he couldn't actually bring himself to raise his eyes passed the bruises of the bags there. Looking himself in the eye was a privilege he'd long given up the right to.</p><p>Black, because of the way he threw himself forward with even more reckless abandon, into every fight possible: nest, bar brawl, road rage, it no longer mattered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black

It had been a week since Dean had glanced out of their motel room window to see Cas and Sam talking, and Cas rapidly disappear.

Sam had hung his head, stared at the ground for several minutes as though composing himself, then spun noisily on his heel and trudged back in without saying a word.

Everything was pretty black now for Dean.

Black when he woke up, because his head pounded thickly with hangover, and his tongue felt too swollen in his mouth to taste much of anything at all.

Black when he looked in the mirror, because his eyes were bruised with lack of proper rest, and because he couldn't actually bring himself to raise his eyes passed the bruises of the bags there. Looking himself in the eye was a privilege he'd long given up the right to.

Black, because of the way he threw himself forward with even more reckless abandon, into every fight possible: nest, bar brawl, road rage, it no longer mattered.

Dean was every inch seething, growling out at the world around him, lashing out at anyone and everything, when all he felt was loathing at himself.

This morning, he'd woken from a nightmare. In the dream, he'd agreed to meet Cas at a crossroads of all places. And he was running, and running, desperate to reach him but encountering obstacle after obstacle in his efforts to get to him, with the distance seeming to increase rather than shorten. When he'd finally, breathlessly stumbled down on to his knees at their agreed place to meet, Cas was nowhere to be seen. The only thing waiting for Dean was a scrawled note wedged beneath a broken whiskey bottle that read,  _ too late _ .

He'd woken gasping, and sweating, and cursing out loud as he sat bolt upright with a jolt heavy enough to shift the bed.

Sam had rolled over bleary-eyed, taken in his expression, bit back whatever retort he was more than entitled to spit out, and dragged himself out of his own bed.

Sam, Dean thought to himself, was a better brother than he'd ever deserve.

As far as he could tell, Sam hadn't tried to contact Cas again, and his name was never mentioned between them. There was much Sam could say, and accuse him of, including cutting them off of angelic assistance. But Dean knew full well that if he were to apologise for that in particular, Sam would rip him a new one about Cas being a damn sight more than just a tool to them.

He wouldn't even mean it either, saying Cas was merely useful to them, Dean sighed to himself. It was easy to belittle all that Cas was, to make himself feel better for an instant. To cover up what he really felt about Cas, which he couldn't admit, not to himself, or anyone. Because that would be disastrous, and the end of everything.

Dean had to keep reminding himself of why that would be. And his excuses became more pathetic as time went on.

So here he was, broken and breaking, looking down at the stream of blood trickling from his knuckles from where he'd punched his way through a bar bathroom mirror in defeated rage. He howled up in utter fury; at himself, the world, the pain that ebbed and flowed now from his own hands.

Sam came crashing through the door with fear in his eyes, took one look down at Dean's hands, and his fear turned into a scowl.

Grinding his teeth, he stepped forward, carefully picking out the small shards of glass remaining in Dean's skin and throwing them into the sink with disgust, before wadding up tissue and dabbing him clean.

“We'll fix these outside,” he mumbled, glaring at Dean for a moment before turning away, and knowing Dean would trail behind him. Dean did just that, eyes firmly on Sam's shoulder to avoid seeing if any member of staff was going to approach them about the broken glass on the way out, but they made it to the Impala without a single disturbance.

Dean leaned back against the car, watching as his blood dripped down into the dirt, looking black where it landed.

Sam rummaged up some bandages from a bag in the back of the car, along with a half bottle of cheap whiskey they used for medical 'emergencies' such as this.

“When are you gonna stop this?” he said dully as he uncapped the bottle and lifted Dean's hand, pouring the whiskey over his cuts and gritting his teeth again as Dean winced. He repeated the action with the other hand, inspected them by the light of a flashlight to make sure all the glass was really gone, before dabbing them both dry and wrapping them up.

“Dunno-”

“You dare tell me you don't know what I'm talking about,” Sam threatened, glaring at Dean and shutting him up with a single look.

Dean swallowed awkwardly and dragged his eyes away.

“I can't keep watching you do this,” Sam said, a little softer this time.

“Then stop watching me,” Dean shot back at him with a glare.

“Then stop being a selfish, self-destructive dick,”

Despite Dean's eyes being turned from him, Sam couldn't help notice how the corner of them glistened, and his jaw twitched as though he was trying to keep control.

“I don't know how to stop doing this,” Dean blurted out, looking just as surprised as Sam did to hear the words come out.

“Dean,” Sam said, and Dean flinched away, wiping a rough hand over his face and cursing at the bandage there as he did.

“Let's go,” Dean growled out, moving to open the driver door.

Sam kicked it shut with such force the entire car shook. “You  _ are _ going to stop. You're going to stop doing this  _ now _ , Dean,” Sam said with a sense of urgency and shoved hard against Dean's shoulder. “You really, really screwed this up. We both know that, okay? But you know what? Shit happens. You did it, it's done, we've both tried to get him to come back. Maybe he will, maybe he won't. But we've gotta move on from this, Dean.”

“Why?” Dean said dejectedly, his eyes cast down to where Sam's hand still pressed him into the side of the car.

“Because doing this to yourself isn't gonna bring him back any quicker,” Sam said, pressing hard against his shoulder again, “Because you're getting so careless that you're gonna end up dead. You want that?”

Dean's breath caught in his throat, and Sam's heart pounded a little, fearing Dean might actually say that he did.

“No,” Dean managed to whisper, shaking his head, and to Sam's surprise, he watched as tears slowly leaked down his cheeks. “No, I don't. But I just... I just...”

“You miss him,” Sam finished for him, swallowing awkwardly.

“I do, Sam. I really do,” and Dean looked up at Sam with such loss in his eyes and break in his voice that Sam's anger drained away enough for him to sigh deeply and pull him in for a quick hug.

“I... what if something happens to him and he still thinks... that I... that I...” Dean's voice trailed away helplessly and his head fell back against the Impala with a soft thud.

“I honestly don't know, Dean. I don't know what to tell you...”

“What did he say to you?” Dean asked, his voice faltering. Sam's eyes widened for a second, and Dean smiled grimly. “I know you spoke to him. I saw,”

Sam grimaced. “I... he... he's busy,” Sam tried at first, then shook his head. “He... said... he thinks... he knows you'll turn him away again. He all but admitted he... he-”

“He what?” Dean demanded, suddenly gripping tightly on to Sam's arms.

“He cares about you.” Sam breathed out.

“He... said that?” Dean's eyes grew wide and disbelieving.

“Not... not exactly that, no,” Sam amended, and Dean's hands fell dejectedly to his sides. “But he didn't deny it when I challenged him on it,” Sam added, trying to lace in there the slight shred of hope that he felt.

When Dean was unmoving, Sam tried again. “He did say he misses you,” he whispered, seeing the instant wave of pain it caused Dean flooding across his face. “And he said he knew you'd turn him away. He's got every right to think that, given the way you've been with him.”

Dean groaned to himself, and it sounded a lot like a sob to Sam. “I can't seem to stop  _ that _ either. Being a dick with him. I don't want to keep pushing him away but... but I keep doing it...”

“Then apologise, and... I don't know...” Sam said helplessly, letting his hands fall heavily against his thighs.

“I can't apologise when he won't even come here,” Dean said, frustration coursing through his words.

“You tried praying?”

“All day. Every day. He must... he must've tuned me out,” Dean closed his eyes in defeat.

“Okay,” Sam said, nodding his head. “Okay. So keep praying. Keep trying. Something's gotta get through to him at some point.”

“And if it doesn't?” Dean asked the inevitable question.

Sam breathed out low, and hard, as though considering his words. “Then you're gonna have to learn from your mistakes I guess, Dean. It's harsh, I know. But quit it. Quit pushing away the things you really want because you think you don't deserve them. That's what this is about really, isn't it?”

Dean let his head fall forward with a huff, but said nothing.

“Dean,” Sam pressed on. “You... you can't keep doing this,” he said softly again, shaking his head.

They stood for a moment in silence, and Sam dropped his grip on Dean, letting him stand freely.

“What if he does come back?” Dean said after a moment, and Sam's eyes shot up.

“You want me to give you some crap about not letting him go, or not screwing up or something?” Sam said incredulously, and Dean could tell by the way Sam looked him over that he was almost at the point of pushing Sam away too.

“You know what to do,” Sam shrugged, walking around to his side of the car and climbing in without another word.

Dean stood for a minute, staring out into nothing, then cast his eyes skywards, firing out yet another prayer.

“Please, Cas,” he begged, looking up as though he might actually see him up there somewhere.

He glanced up once more, sighed deeply, and climbed in the car himself.

***

To prove that he had been listening, when Sam said he wanted a drink at the adjoining bar to their motel that evening, Dean had bit back the urge to drain several bottles and instead said he was going to sleep it off.

Dean showered with difficulty, still managing to soak his bandages and having to redo them. Luckily, or unluckily for him, it was a one-handed skill he had perfected over the years.

He turned out the bathroom light, climbed beneath the flimsy blanket on his bed, and sank down with a grateful groan, staring up at the ceiling for several minutes before turning out the light by his bed.

In the darkness, he listened to a car passing, and the footfall of people passing, and shifted to try and get as comfortable as he could on the lumpy mattress.

A rustling sound grabbed his attention as he began to doze off. For a moment, he thought he was dreaming again, but then he heard the clearing of a throat.

With his heart in his own throat, Dean fumbled out for the light switch, and raised his head up, gasping out at what he saw.

Cas stood at the foot of his bed, looking back at him more defeated and dishevelled than Dean thought he had ever seen him.

“Cas?” he breathed out incredulously, barely daring to move.

“Hello, Dean,” came Cas' hoarse reply, as he toppled forward on Dean's bed with a blade protruding out his back and a black wound oozing around it.

  
  
  



End file.
